Apartment 3B

by Patricia Scanlan

  Claire’s eyes widened. ‘Really!’ she exclaimed. Wasn’t she lucky to have met someone who understood. Jim and she stayed together the rest of the night and she had never felt so happy, or had such an enjoyable evening.

  ‘Have you shifted?’ Rosie whispered when she caught her friend alone – Jim had excused himself and gone to the gents.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Goody!’ smiled her best friend, giving her the thumbs-up as Finbarr whirled her around the floor.

  A polite cough caused Claire to look up and she saw with a start that Sean Moran, a teacher from the village, was smiling at her. She smiled back. When she fell off her bike a few years back, it had been Sean who had come to her assistance and brought her to Ardkeen Hospital. He had called once to visit and she had felt so mortified. She didn’t know what to talk to him about, so they just talked about school. She had given herself an awful bashing that day – cracked ribs, broken arm, black eyes; Sean had told her that he was sure she was half-dead.

  ‘Hello Claire. How are you?’ the teacher enquired.

  ‘Hello Mr Mor . . . Sean,’ she amended. He had told her to call him Sean.

  ‘You’re looking very nice tonight. How’s the job going?’

  ‘Oh fine, fine,’ she assured him.

  ‘I was ah . . . wondering perhaps, if you would consider doing your Leaving Certificate on your own?’ He stood, arms folded, sandy hair flopping over his pale blue eyes, studying her intently. ‘You did very well in your Inter Cert, after all.’

  ‘I never really thought about it,’ Claire admitted.

  ‘Well I think you should give it some thought. I’d be very willing to give you tuition in the evenings.’

  ‘Oh . . . Oh thanks very much, Mr Moran!’ Claire was quite taken aback by his offer.

  ‘Sean!’ he reminded her with a faint smile.

  ‘Oh . . . yes . . . Sean.’ She felt a bit of a fool calling him by his first name when she was so used to calling him Mr Moran. He must be at least thirty-five. She didn’t know if she wanted to study with him. How much did he intend to charge? She might not be able to afford his fee. Of course her mother would think it was a marvellous idea.

  ‘You’d want to give me your answer soon, you know. You’d want to start as quickly as you can to get the syllabus covered.’

  ‘Em . . . er . . . what would your fee be, Sean?’ she asked hesitantly.

  The teacher looked horrified. ‘Good heavens Claire, I wouldn’t charge. I just feel you should make the most of your potential. If you like, call around to my lodgings some evening after work and we can discuss it.’

  ‘OK,’ she agreed, relieved to see that Jim was heading back towards her.

  ‘Good! Good! And ah . . . Happy New Year, Claire.’

  ‘And the same to you, Sean. Goodnight.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Jim asked.

  ‘One of the teachers from the primary school.’

  ‘Was he chatting you up?’ he laughed.

  ‘No he wasn’t! He thinks I should do the Leaving on my own. He said he’d give me a grind.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Jim agreed. ‘There’s no harm having a bash. But I think he fancies you. He was looking at you the whole evening.’

  ‘Give over!’ Claire blushed scarlet at the idea of anyone, let alone Sean Moran, fancying her.

  ‘And why wouldn’t he be looking at you? Aren’t you the prettiest girl here tonight?’ Jim was smiling down at her. ‘Can I see you home?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she murmured, thrilled by his compliment. She wondered if he would kiss her. She really hoped he would. She’d only ever been kissed once, by Tony Carroll, a rushed furtive affair after a school dance and she hadn’t really enjoyed it. Tony had nearly choked her by ramming his tongue down her throat, but he seemed to have liked it a lot. Kissing Jim would be different, she was sure of it.

  It would be like something out of a Mills & Boon romance, her current favourite reading material. She and the girls devoured them and the most flattering thing they could say about a man was, ‘he’s a real Mills & Booner.’ There weren’t many ‘Mills & Booners’ around Knockross, although they were all agreed that Father Kennedy, the new curate, was an absolute dish. He had been on the missions and had to return because of recurrent malaria. He had been posted to Knockross to help Father O’Toole, who was growing feeble in body if not in mind. With his tan and his hooded blue eyes and his black hair with just the slightest hint of grey at the temples, all were agreed, he was the perfect hero. And completely wasted in the church in their opinion! Practically all the readers of romance fantasized about tempting him with their nubile bodies and his leaving the Church to marry them. All the young females of the village, and quite a few of the older ones, abandoned Father O’Toole’s ten o’clock mass for Father Kennedy’s later one at eleven, much to the dismay of Mickey Hayes and Paudi O’Leary who enjoyed standing at the back of the church watching the young ones going up to receive.

  Jim was a bit Mills & Boony too, she decided as they walked hand in hand up the road towards home. Claire had said goodnight to Rosie and told her she’d call over the next day.

  ‘I’ll be dying to hear all the news!’ Rosie winked.

  Claire hoped she’d have some news to tell her. Was Jim just being polite by walking her home or would he want to see her again? Was she actually going to have a boyfriend? She felt like doing a little dance up the road. She was just going to enjoy the walk home, she decided. As her mother was fond of saying: ‘Que sera, sera.’

  It was a real crisp cold winter’s night. Their breath was freezing in the air. The stars seemed so near in the black velvet sky that she felt she could reach out a hand and pluck one down. The moon, a silver sliver, hid coyly behind chiffon wisps of cloud, and in the ten-acre field an owl hooted.

  ‘Isn’t it a beautiful night?’ Claire said happily. ‘Don’t the stars look so near?’

  ‘Look at the Plough,’ Jim pointed. ‘Imagine you can see that at night in any part of the world. I wonder how many people are looking at it now?’ Whoever was looking at it couldn’t possibly be as happy as she was, Claire decided. What a wonderful way to start off a new decade. Maybe her whole life was going to change.

  A car passed them, slowed down and reversed. Sean Moran opened the driver’s window and poked his head out.

  ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? It’s a mighty cold night!’ Was it? Claire hadn’t noticed.

  ‘We’re enjoying the walk, thanks all the same,’ Jim said politely.

  ‘Well goodnight then. And Claire,’ he gave her a tight little smile, ‘don’t forget to call next week.’

  ‘I won’t!’ she promised. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘He fancies you, I’m telling you,’ teased Jim.

  ‘Ah stop it!’

  Putting his arms around her, Jim laughed. ‘Mickey Hayes and Paudi Leary nearly got heart attacks when they saw your mini. Sean Moran is trying to wipe my eye. I’ve got my hands full, I can see. But you know what?’

  ‘What?’ she smiled.

  ‘I’m the one that’s walking you home!’ Bending his head, his lips met hers in a long, passionate and very romantic kiss.

  An hour later, after a walk that should have taken, at the most, fifteen minutes, a dazed and happy Claire walked with Jim beside her up to her front gate only to stop in horror as she saw Billy Doyle, furious and still drunk, waiting for her.

  Oh God! Why are you always picking on me? she screamed silently as Billy lurched towards them.

  ‘Where the bloody hell were you and I after telling you not to go out tonight?’ he yelled, grabbing her by the arm. ‘I’ll teach you to disobey your father!’

  ‘Now just a minute, Mr Doyle!’ protested Jim heatedly.

  Billy tried to focus bleary eyes on the younger man.

  ‘You mind your business, you young whipper-snapper. And get out of my garden or you’ll feel the toe of my boot!’

  ‘Please, Jim, go now. Please! It’ll be OK,’ Cl
aire whispered, dying with shame that he should be a witness to her drunken father’s uncouth behaviour.

  ‘I think I should stay,’ Jim said firmly.

  ‘Get out!’ roared Billy.

  ‘Please Jim!’ She was crying now.

  Reluctantly Jim turned away as her father shoved her through the front door.

  ‘You impertinent little bitch, bringing that gobdaw back to my house,’ he shouted, spittle drooling down the side of his mouth. ‘I’ll learn you!’ Taking his belt off he lashed out at her, striking her on the face and legs. The stinging lash of the strap was nothing to the pain in her heart. Jim would never want to see her again. Her father had ruined things for her yet again. Hatred that had been repressed for so long finally erupted.

  ‘I hate you. You drunken fucking bully. You’re a . . . a bastard . . . a mangy slob of a bastard and I hate you!’ she yelled as his fury increased and the lashes got more frantic.

  ‘Don’t’ . . . lash . . . ‘you’ . . . lash . . . ‘talk’ . . . lash . . . ‘to me like that!’ Billy put all his weight into striking her with his belt as she stood there screaming at him.

  ‘Stop it Billy! Billy, I’ll call the guards – I’m telling you!’ A white-faced Molly launched herself at her husband, dragging him away from Claire, who had collapsed onto the floor under the violence of his blows.

  ‘That one gets out of my house tomorrow; I’ve had just about enough of her,’ Billy said viciously, as he re-threaded his belt through his trousers.

  ‘And I’ll be with her,’ sobbed Molly, wringing her hands.

  ‘Ah good riddance then!’ her husband grunted, staggering into the bedroom.

  ‘Claire! Claire child, are you all right? It was all my fault, I didn’t think he’d wake up but he did. Claire, love, are you all right?’ Molly was frantic at the sight of her battered daughter at her feet.

  ‘I’m all right, Mum,’ she tried to whisper, but her mouth felt as though she had lead in it and she could feel the hot wetness of her own blood. Molly tried to lift her up, and eventually Claire managed, with her mother’s help, to get to the bathroom.

  ‘I think I’ll have to get the doctor for you, Claire,’ Molly whispered, horrified at the sight of her daughter’s wounds.

  ‘No! No Mum, it looks worse than it is,’ Claire said weakly, catching sight of her black and purple face, swollen to twice its normal size. Between them, they managed to bathe her cuts but the pain was excruciating where Molly touched them gently with disinfectant.

  ‘Get into bed now, Claire. We’ll talk in the morning,’ Molly whispered, tucking the sheets around her daughter.

  In the dark, alone, heart pounding, hot tears slid down her cheeks. What was she going to do? Her father had told her to get out and anyway after tonight she didn’t want to stay at home. But where would she go? And what about Jim? Would he ever want to get in touch with her again? Claire cried herself to sleep.

  The next morning she awoke in agony. Her body ached all over and she could barely drink the tea that Molly brought her. Of her father there was no sign. Molly said he had left the house after his breakfast. Gone to visit his mother, he told her. He gave no indication of remembering anything about the night before. ‘Will I call the doctor?’ Molly asked worriedly. ‘You’re in an awful state.’

  ‘I’ll just stay in bed today and I’ll be all right. Honest, Mum,’ Claire assured her. She’d be mortified to have Doctor Nolan find out what had happened to her. She lay cocooned in her comfortable bed. Claire loved her bed and bedroom. It was the place she could escape all her worries. Billy never set foot in it so it was a true haven. Molly had painted it pink, her daughter’s favourite colour, and a fluffy white sheepskin rug covered the gleaming polished floorboards beside her bed. A poster of Paul Newman, her absolute favourite star, faced across the room at her, his famous blue eyes twinkling down. Next to the poster a picture of the Virgin Mary and the Infant Jesus. On her old-fashioned dressing-table lay Claire’s recently-purchased lipstick and eyeshadow, her pride and joy. She loved experimenting with make-up but took care not to wear too much in case her father would notice. Outside, the rain lashed against the window panes and a howling gale made keening eerie sounds. Her mother had lit the fire in the bedroom and Claire lay watching the flickering flames casting giant shadows on Paul Newman, wishing she could stay there for ever.

  Later, coming out of a half-sleep, she heard voices at the front door, just down the hall. Molly slipped into the room. ‘It’s Rosie. Will I tell her you’re sick? You don’t want her to see you in that state, surely?’

  Claire shook her head and winced. Every movement caused her pain but she didn’t mind Rosie seeing her. Rosie was her best friend, she shared the good times and the bad. But even Rosie found it hard to contain herself when she saw the way Claire looked.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Claire! Are you all right? Girl, you should be in the hospital!’ she exclaimed in concern.

  ‘Shush, Rosie. I don’t want Mum getting upset,’ Claire whispered.

  ‘Oh the bastard, the dirty bastard.’ Rosie was nearly crying as she took Claire’s hand. ‘You’ve got to get out of this house. You can’t put up with that just because you go to a dance and bring home a fella! Jim told me about it.’

  ‘Jim did!’ Claire blushed in shame.

  ‘Yeah, he was really mad. He wanted to come back and see if you were OK but I persuaded him not to. I thought it might make things worse.’

  ‘Thanks Rosie,’ Claire murmured gratefully.

  ‘He wants to know if he could call and see you at work. He wants to ask you out again but he doesn’t want to call to the house in case it causes trouble.’

  Tears welled up in Claire’s eyes.

  ‘Oh! what’s wrong? Does it hurt?’ her friend asked in concern.

  ‘Oh no . . . no it’s just I’m so glad Jim wants to see me again after . . . after last night. I’m just happy, that’s all.’ Claire gave a little laugh as she wiped away her tears. Jim had seen her humiliated by her father. Seen her at her worst and he still wanted to meet her again. Well to hell with Billy Doyle! She was going to see him and Rosie was right – she couldn’t continue to live at home. She’d have to get a flat or lodgings but at least she wouldn’t be in fear of her father.

  A week later, her body healing, her bruises fading, Claire sat in an attic room in an old house in Waterford, surrounded by all her worldly goods. It was a nice bright little room with a good view of the harbour. Rosie’s aunt owned the house and Claire was taking up lodgings with her. The only thing that worried her was leaving her mother alone to put up with Billy.

  She had tried to persuade Molly to leave her husband. ‘Please come with me, Mum. We’d manage – I know we would.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave him, dear. It’s my duty to stay. Father O’Toole told me so in confession. I married him for better or worse. He’s my husband and who’d look after him?’

  ‘Let him look after himself!’ Claire retorted bitterly.

  ‘Claire, I’ll be all right,’ her mother said cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll have great peace of mind knowing you’re in a good warm clean place with Rosie’s aunt. Sure I’ll be able to come and have tea with you at the weekends. We’ll have great times going around the shops.’ But at night when Claire, tired after a hard day’s work, lay in her new divan, she worried about her mother and wondered how she was getting on alone with Billy.

  True to his word, Jim had called in to the salon, ignoring Mrs Molloy’s disapproving gaze. ‘Will you come out with me tonight?’ he said softly so that the older woman couldn’t hear. ‘What time will I collect you? You’d better give me the address. Rosie said you’d taken lodgings here in the city.’

  Claire nodded and gave him the address and directions and then he was gone and she was standing grinning foolishly to herself, until Mrs Deegan squawked at the sink, and she realized that the lather had gone into her eyes.

  The next few months were the happiest of her entire life. The stra
in caused by living with Billy vanished and her true fun-loving nature started to emerge as her self-confidence increased. Rosie and Finbarr and Jim and she had some of the greatest times, going for drives in Finbarr’s new banger, going to dances and having fun. Rosie’s aunt didn’t mind Jim calling to the house and he was a frequent visitor for tea. Each weekend she cycled home to see her mother, who was always delighted to see her. Billy never spoke two words to her.

  She got the surprise of her life when Sean Moran walked into the salon one day. He must have heard about why she left home – the whole village knew – because he never passed any remark about the fact that she was now living in Waterford.

  ‘Did you ever give any thought to doing the Leaving Cert?’ he asked as they stood outside the door watching the traffic going by. Claire had asked him to come outside. She didn’t want Mrs Molloy knowing her business and it was obvious that she was dying to know who Sean was.

  ‘I thought it might be a bit awkward now that I’m living in Waterford,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said kindly. ‘I’ll drive in to Waterford two evenings a week if you like and we could study in your lodgings.’ He seemed so eager for her to take the exam that she felt it would be churlish to refuse and so, twice a week from seven until nine, she began to study the Leaving Cert syllabus with Sean Moran. To her surprise she rather enjoyed it.

  The bottom fell out of her world when Jim called one night looking grim and upset. His employer had collapsed and died and Jim was out of a job. For weeks he tried to find employment but the one job he did land had terrible conditions and pay much lower than what he had been earning.

  One evening they were walking hand-in-hand along the harbour. Jim said suddenly, ‘I’m getting out, Claire. I’m going to Australia, I’ve a brother over there. At least I’ll be getting decent money.’ Claire felt as if her heart had shrivelled up and died. She had fallen in love with Jim, although he did not realize it, and now he was going away from her.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she managed to say, afraid she was going to disgrace herself by bawling.